Haunted
by Rayne-Jelly
Summary: Just some Halloween tripe in which Harry is haunted by his own ghosts sotospeak. I tried doing it as a horror story, and to some extent it is horrific, but it's also... psychotic. Slash if you want it to be.


**Author's Note: **Just some Halloween tripe, I thought this up at about 6 in the morning (note: If I'm awake at six in the morning, powers that be forbid, I haven't slept) so if it's crappy I apologize.  I thought it was cute though. Oh, and there's mild slash, especially at the end, but if that's a problem, pan it out as friendship. 

**Disclaimers: ::President** Clinton accent:: I do not own Harry Potter. I have not had sexual relations with Draco Malfoy. I wish that were a lie. 

The first year Gryffindor boys stared eagerly at the ghost that had joined them for the Halloween feast; ghosts were always the best company on Halloween, especially talkative ones.  This particular ghost wasn't spectacularly talkative, but neither was he taciturn, he was just a normal person. Well, as normal as one can be for a dead person. Not much was known about him, unlike most ghosts there were no tales or legends following his conquests, the Bloody Barron seemed to trail mystery behind him, this ghost merely floated in and out of Hogwarts life without a whisper in passing. However, upon seeing the anticipant expressions on all those glowing faces, he sighed heavily and said, "Would you like to hear a story?" 

Every head in the vicinity nodded hurriedly. 

The ghost sighed again, "Unlike most stories you will hear tonight, it begins on a clear evening, the sun has just set…"

~*~

A perpetual cloud of smoke wafted down the hallways of Hogwarts, school of Witch Craft and Wizardry.  The acrid smell of lit matches and candle smoke absorbed into the stone as elaborate candle holders grew off the walls in great vines. An asthmatic would have a hell of a time living and breathing in these hallways, but fortunately, Harry Potter was no asthmatic. There was not a thing wrong with Harry Potter, not physically at least. Opinions of his mental state differed from person to person, but everyone agreed, there was something not quite right about the hero. 

Childhood was long gone, social pleasantries had become a thing of the past as Harry slowly grew into his position as savior of the world. It had been thrust upon him as a very young child, then everything had come to a head mere months ago. People had died, too many people, half of the forbidden forest had been demolished, and Harry now carried scars that were far more defining than the one on his forehead. Miraculously, that one had disappeared, when Voldemort finally died and the last traces of his magic were wiped away, his lightning-bolt scar had vanished. Harry didn't know that he cared.  As a child he had loved it for it made him unique, as an adult he had hated it for it made him unique. Now he was a part of a crowd again, barely recognizable as his former self, and who would recognize him anyway? His friends and family were dead. All of them. 

Paranoia plagued his days and nightmares the fleeting hours he managed sleep. Insomnia had Harry Potter in its firm grasp and it was very reluctant to let him go. Even insomnia wanted a piece of Harry. There was very little anyone was willing to do or say, Harry acted very much like Mad Eye Moody, who was dead, jumping away from strangers, giving them leery stares. Strangers stayed away from Harry these days, the press had dropped him like a rock when it appeared he wouldn't recover from being shell shocked into obsession.  Safety, security, survival. Sanity was of little consequence.

Halloween was the worst time of year for Harry Potter, everyone else was slowly recovering, remembering the good, but Halloween spelled disaster for the boy-that-couldn't-die time and time again. The incident in Godric's Hollow had occurred on Halloween and every year since, something had gone wrong.  This year's feast promised to be a somewhat muted affair, but that was no surprise, the majority of the student body was dead anyway. Hogwarts was slowly rebuilding. 

Skulking down this dark hallway, Harry checked every corner, made every turn with a mirror first, dying was not an option.  There were footsteps echoing from somewhere, they were unplaceable, there were too many of them, surrounding him and dulling his sense of direction. Harry froze against a wall, his wand drawn as he cursed the day Filch destroyed the Marauders Map.  He would be prepared for whoever was coming – were it Voldemort returned from the grave, Harry would be ready to kill him again.  His pulse pounded in his ears, cold sweat broke out on his forehead… then the foot steps receded. Harry remained pressed flush against the wall as the terrifying beat of someone's cold, booted feet against the stone ceased.  

Catching his breath he began to move again, less cautiously, faster towards his chambers and the sanctuary that awaited him. That was the only place he felt at home, the only place that the twitch in his eyebrow relaxed, the only place where the knotted muscles in his back and shoulders unwound enough for him to breathe.  He needed to get there now, he was unable to consume oxygen, he needed his corner of the world.  Now. 

Breaking into a run, Harry accidentally turned a corner without scoping it out first, and ran straight into a firm body.  The startled hero scrambled away and dug out his wand, knowing that he was fast enough on his feet to keep the other person from killing him. 

"Potter? Are you all right?" A familiar voice attached to a familiar face with unfamiliar eyes.  Draco Malfoy stood before him with his hands up in a placating gesture; he still had respect for Harry, but secretly pitied him.  Potter was supposed to be an irrepressible force, now he was just a frightened little rabbit, struggling to maintain his hold on existence while he fought the memories of his dead. 

"Fine." Harry spat, circling Draco with his wand still pointed in the blonde's direction. Draco had an interesting silver streak in his hair now, premature grey, terror induced perhaps, Harry just registered it as an anomaly. 

"Harry," Malfoy tried softly, Harry stiffened. The animosity had died between them, there was not enough left of Hogwarts for house rivalries or even houses, not enough left of Harry for grudges and ancient slights. The war had broken everyone, stripped them of their perceptions in just days. "Potter… if you ever…" it was still hard to say in the face of Harry's wide eyed, twitchy countenance, "if you ever need something, anything.  We're here." 

He would have been insulting, would have cracked a smile for old-times-sake, but Harry was so rarely off his guard that the gesture could have been threatening. Draco Malfoy did not want to die, and everyone knew that Harry was capable of killing.  Potter slipped behind another corner and most likely dove into his hidey hole. It was really sort of sad.  

~

He could feel it, creeping through the halls, seeping under the door, billowing like an ominous cloud over the castle. It was hunting him, something wanted him dead. Fate wanted him dead. Destiny had stolen his livelihood, made him a murderer, destroyed his happiness and killed his friends, now it was after him. It was only natural, having seen almost every person he'd ever met, strewn across a gory battle field. Death Eaters, Order members, the Weasleys, Hermione, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Sprout, Hooch, Filch, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, the Boots, the Bones', the McDougal's, Cho Chang, Cornelius Fudge, Luna Lovegood, McNair, Hagrid, Wormtail, Lupin, Malfoy Sr., Dumbledore, Voldemort. The list was endless, but Harry's name wasn't on it.  

He had faced Voldemort so many times, defeated him and had emerged relatively unscathed, but last Halloween, the death toll was enormous.  Fourteen Muggle drunk-driving incidents, hundreds of Wizard lives stolen.  Harry had seen death too many times, he and the thestrals got on quite well, their bony flesh having solidified in his eyes, their ugly chimera-like form having become something ordinary and beautiful.  He didn't want to join the ranks of the dead, not by any means, but he could feel it moving ever closer, encroaching upon his senses, squeezing his heart in its icy grip. 

Harry didn't understand survivor's guilt, he didn't want to die, he didn't want to end up as a rotten, bloating corpse, one of the mangled people he had stepped over to get to Voldemort.  Harry wanted to survive, but even after all he'd done, all the games he'd knowingly played on behalf of the war, something didn't want to let him. 

Oh god, it was coming closer, he could feel it just outside in the hall. Thump, thump, thump. Harry's heart fluttered painfully. Thump – knocking on the door.

~

What was knocking on the door, was none other than Draco Malfoy. He was seriously worried about Harry, no one should lock themselves up like that. Being alone too long… it does strange things to the mind.  And so he had come to find himself knocking at Harry's door, praying that the former Gryffindor would let him in, if not, he would feel like an idiot, but he sincerely felt that Harry needed some company.  

Classes were a thing of the past, Hogwarts had merely become a building for all the little war orphans to haunt until they had somewhere to go, until a new Headmaster was appointed.  Draco planned on doing some haunting, the Malfoy Mannor had been destroyed, his parents killed by Voldemort himself, his assets temporarily frozen, and the vast majority of his wardrobe singed, he was not a happy young man. But now he felt as though he had a purpose again, get good grades, torment all the young and delirious children of Hogwarts, save Potter from himself… the list went on. 

He had every intention of following Potter everywhere. After catching him in the hall way, he had grown increasingly more concerned by Harry's jerky movements until he found himself here. Draco had to admit, seeing the school devoid of its former, teeming life was unnerving, this hallway was extremely creepy and secluded, full of spider webs and dust like the last shards of reality that had been covered with rubble and left to rot. He supposed that was why Potter chose it. "Harry, open the door!"

~

He snatched up his wand; anything that wanted his life would have to fight for it! A hand on the rusted handle and the door seemed to open itself, flying out of Harry's grasp and banging against the wall with an ominous thunder.  He was prepared to fight for his life, fight the ethereal being that insisted on stealing it, he was all set up to scream in horror, but was cut short.

"Harry!" Harry sunk to the carpeted floor in relief, cowering away from the door. Malfoy daintily stepped in, overriding Harry's mild protest, and hauled the brunette to his feet. The blonde shook his head as Harry's eyes did a frantic search over the room, finally ending at the open door.  Draco sighed and closed it. "I'm beginning to think you're a paranoid schizophrenic."

"W-why are you here?" Harry wasn't afraid of Draco, that's not what caused the stutter, in fact, Draco owed him a bit of a debt, for it was because of Harry that he was alive, but his voice hadn't been used for conversation in so long that he forgot what it felt like.  

Malfoy conjured a cup of cocoa, hoping to calm him down, but Harry poison tested it so thoroughly that it was cold by the time he sipped it.  Draco rolled his eyes, "Believe it or not Potter, I was worried about you." 

Harry had gotten into the swing of things now, "I don't believe it.  Why are you _really_ here? You wanted to kill me didn't you? You want to kill me and resurrect the dark lord, I can feel it!" He was building himself up in a fuss of misguided prejudices and panic.  

"I-." Draco tried and failed to get a word in edgewise.

"You're just here so you can personally deliver me to whatever it is that's out there and…" Harry seemed to realize something as Draco sipped his cocoa calmly in the face of the storm. "Oh God, it's in here! You left the door open, it's in here! It's going to kill me, I'm the only one left and it's going to kill me."

"NOW SEE HERE POTTER," Draco thundered, having accidentally enhanced his voice in his frustration. Harry jumped and clutched his wand.  "YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE LEFT YOU SELFISH PRAT! I'M HERE TOO! I WAS THERE JUST LIKE YOU WERE, I SAW WHAT HAPPENED JUST LIKE YOU DID!" 

Harry was incensed, Malfoy had invaded his privacy, only to yell at him! "LIkE HElL MaLFoY! tHE ONlY REaSON YOU'Re ALIVE Is BeCAUsE OF ME! YOu WOuLD bE DEAD ToO, SoN Of DEaTH EATeR SCUm!" He hollered, voice serrated by nerves and anger.

Draco shut his mouth, it was true, he owed Harry, but he had only been trying to help. From the beginning of time, it seemed, their encounters ended this way, hexing each other, screaming at each other, it was all such a waste of energy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco was seething, but he said quite simply, "Fine. If you want to throw your life away, it's no concern of mine."  He moved, chair scraping against the threadbare carpet with a sort of slick, wet crunch.  

Harry whimpered and Draco turned. Completely in spite of himself, against his better judgment, he didn't want to see Harry frightened of shadows for the rest of his life. The golden boy of Hogwarts was too strong for that. Despite his best and worst intentions, Draco Malfoy had become attached to the person that Harry was before the war. Shit storm, war, disaster… it had been a disaster.  

"Oh god you let it in." He said, his sanctuary had been invaded by the nightmare, the one safe place in the whole castle. Harry had warded this room to high heaven, he had personally set his best charms and traps against intruders, placed mirrors strategically so he could watch the only exit from anywhere in the room, blocked the window with double paned glass and a hex strong enough to ward of an amorous Minotaur. Malfoy watched carefully as Harry retreated into a little ball and began to rock back and forth to the rhythm of his heart beat, "you let it in, you let it in!"  

Suddenly his green eyes perceptibly widened and he gulped, staring at one of his mirrors in terror.  "YOU LET IT IN!" He shrieked and bolted for the door.  

Draco took a glance at the mirror and didn't see anything but his own reflection. "Wait! Harry!"

~

Harry ran, he could feel it chasing him. He could feel the cold breath of evil as sweat trickled down his neck, he could feel his heart pounding against his breastbone, inescapable, it was inescapable.  He ran towards the forest, unwittingly seeking the place where Voldemort met his doom. He had to escape, he didn't want to die, he wouldn't die.  He wouldn't let himself.

The memories emerged like steam from the road, blocking his path to freedom.  Hermione Granger, her face burnt and melted by the blast that killed her emerged in his mind and Harry shied away.  "Why?" She cried slowly, "Why?" 

Harry began to cry, tears streaming down his face as he ran from one of his best friends, deeper into the forest.  Ronald Weasley slowly appeared, forming in the dense evening fog, screaming, he was screaming, his body wracked with pain as he was tortured. Until the Cruciatus Curse finally killed him.  Hermione went to him and placed a hand on his over extended ribs and Ron cried out in agony. Harry sobbed.  

One by one his dead emerged from the ground, filtering in through the fog, surrounding him, asking him, screaming for him, "Why!?" 

Sirius, Lupin, his parents, "We gave our lives for you Harry. We sacrificed everything." Oh god, Harry had to keep running, he couldn't stand it anymore. Peter Petigrew emerging from the mist with his silver hand and hatred in his eyes, "Murderer." He accused, "Murderer." Peter died by Harry's hand, Avada Kedavra and he was gone, but there was no triumph in the victory, only emptiness, sorrow, as the last of the marauders died.  

Voldemort too came to haunt him, rising majestically from the ground, no longer the snake like being he was but the handsome man he could have been. His eyes bulged, his tongue lolled from his mouth and the silvery sheen that was the blush of a ghost overpowered his face in a macabre way.  Harry had choked him to death, his wand was ineffectual, so he had choked him. There were shadowy spots on his neck where Harry's hands had been, bruises, and saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He was more terrifying than ever. 

Harry tripped over a clod of dirt and sod and he fell on his back, watching in helpless horror as his friends, family, enemies surrounded him, trapped him.  Then too, did Draco Malfoy push through the crowd, his silver streaked blonde hair and pale skin glowing with the light of health and life.  The ghosts pushed him, punished him, spitting at him with intangible saliva but malice as thick as pea soup. "Why!" Draco cried, having been thrown to his knees. "Why did you save _me_! Why couldn't you let me die too! Can't you see I belonged with them!?" As he spoke, the people that defined him in life surrounded him in death, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, even his father, who scorned him as he did in life, who kicked at him with an absent foot. "Why Potter? WHY!?"

Harry didn't know why. He didn't want to know why. Wasn't it enough that he was carrying the memory of all these people, the names of the scores of people he'd seen die, wasn't it enough that it was his fault?! Harry tried to move, tears streaming down his face, the tangible hatred causing his heart to pound out a frantic tattoo as cold sweat beaded on his brow.  Didn't they know he felt terrible, didn't they know he was living for their memory? Couldn't they see that forcing him to join them would be pointless, terrifying?  

Harry had been running from them for so long, dodging corners and glancing over his shoulder lest a silvery wisp so choose to harm him.  He had been avoiding them, his terror of facing the dead palpable in his dreams, in his nightmares.  Hermione was glaring, Ron was screaming, his parents, the Dursleys, wailing their defeat, and Voldemort was laughing. High pitched and cruel, Voldemort was laughing. (A/N: I'll have you Harry Potter, and you're little dog too!)

Then all was silent.  The sounds of the dead were no more, but Draco Malfoy was still crying, from somewhere far away, from a murky, distant grey, Draco Malfoy was still pleading, though the words were different. "Harry! Oh god Harry, please don't die! Don't you see, I'm here too, I'll be all alone if you die! Do you know what they'll do to me if you die?"

Slowly his voice faded away, the grey became black, and the ghosts were no more.

~*~

"And that, my very young students, is how I died."  There were stunned, silent faces all around him, then everyone broke into grins. 

"Wow." One boy said, his eyes wide with awe, "What happened! Did you have a stroke, did you have a heart attack?" 

"No one really knows." Harry said cryptically, rising from the table with grace and floating out the entrance of the Great Hall.  

Draco Malfoy caught up to him about ten feet from the door. "You haven't been telling the first years that you're dead again have you?" He asked, though no one but Draco would have been able to tell if it were in exasperation or fondness. 

Harry shrugged noncommittally, "That part of me is." 

"Potter you git, you're the healthiest ghost I know. See?" To demonstrate, Draco tried grabbing Harry's arm, but his hand went right through the skin. Harry wasn't cold like a normal ghost, and he retained some gelatinous solidity, but Draco could see his hand through Harry's bicep, and screamed.  "Oh my god! You're dead! How did you die! Why wasn't I informed, how can you possibly be dead, just last night we…" He let his sentence trail off, no matter how shocked he was, he wasn't about to scream _that._

Harry was laughing, his hands clasped over his stomach and silvery tears streaming down his face. Now that Draco thought about it, he was semi transparent. "Oh Malfoy, you idiot!"

"What!"

"It's a charm! It's a Halloween costume!" 

Draco rolled his eyes, whether tragic, amusing, or down right bizarre, Harry Potter's Halloween's were never quite normal.  

**Post Authors Notes: **I guess Harry was suffering some strange form of survivors guilt. Heh sorry, I needed a premise for a haunting.


End file.
